


Lover Dearest

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Desire, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Songfic, imminent danger/death, job gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could feel the warmth emitting from Eames’ body. Life and blood and heat and lust. Arthur was amazed that this vibrant force of life could exist so close to death. He drew closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lover Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Marianas Trench's song of the same name. Listen to it here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ-9m5mIFpE It's such a beautiful song, so please forgive the awkward rhyming in the story. Enjoy!

**Lover Dearest**

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. The rain of gunfire echoed from outside; an insistent beat that was impossible to ignore, impossible to prevent.  A small whimper drew his attention to Ariadne who was crouched, trembling like a small child, shying away from the nightmares. But this was no nightmare. It was not a dream. They were awake. This was real.

“I don’t know what to do.” Dom admitted suddenly, speaking as though he wasn’t quite sure he would until he did. Arthur simply nodded and, when he glanced up, he caught Eames’s eyes.

He looked down at his hands again.

They all waited for someone else to speak, but no one dared. It was like their tongues were turning black, words expiring before birth. Speaking wouldn’t give away their positions at this point; it was too late for that. But it made the situation even more real by acknowledging it.

Arthur closed his eyes.

Somewhere – maybe close by, perhaps further away – came the sound of an explosion and then the brontide of shifting concrete.

Arthur grimaced. He gripped his totem tightly, wishing it would be wrong. Maybe it was lying.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Ariadne whispered, and, upon doing so, found Dom throwing his arm around her, drawing her closer as if to protect her tiny body with his own.

Arthur glanced up again. Eames was still watching him. Arthur offered him a tense smile, not knowing of a suitable alternative gesture, but Eames’ features did not relax. There was intensity in his gaze that invoked stronger fear in Arthur than the thought of his imminent death. Arthur frowned, feeling annoyed. “Why aren’t you smiling?” He asked crossly.

Eames’ lips finally quirked up in a smile, “Because we’re about to die, darling?”

Arthur felt himself flushing red, without knowing precisely why, and that pissed him off. He scowled, purposefully turning his face away from Eames.

Eames’ smile only widened. “Don’t be mad, Arthur. It would be such a damn shame if, out of all the emotions you possibly could ever feel, anger was the very last one you felt.” Eames shook his head, “What a waste.”

Arthur stiffened. He didn’t appreciate the teasing. In fact, he detested levity; found it unsatisfying and cheap, like a one night stand.

“I don’t want to die.” Ariadne moaned, “I haven’t even left school. I haven’t grown up, got a crappy job, had horrible kids. I haven’t done anything with my life yet.” Dom stroked her hair soothingly.

It made Arthur think; had he done anything with his life?

Yes.

And no.

Eames was still smiling now.

“What have you done with your life, then?” Arthur challenged him.

An eyebrow was raised, “Nothing I would ever dare tell my parents.”

Arthur pondered that. He thought that made sense.

“But things you would tell us?”

“Perhaps,” Eames might have blushed; it might just be the light, but Arthur recognised the expression, the unrequited desire to share even a small fragment of your life with another human.

“This place is horrible, fucking horrible,” Eames stated abruptly, “but I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?”

“I wish…”

Eames choked on his own words, mutely biting his lip. _I wish we could stay here, forever, alone._ Arthur frowned, was transfixed.

Beside them, he was vaguely aware of Dom leading Ariadne away to God knows where. But he understood. Dying was such a personal, intimate experience. He wouldn’t want to impose.

Eames didn’t seem to have noticed their leaving. His gaze was fixed on the curve between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. Arthur shivered.

“We’re wasting time.” Arthur said quietly and Eames nodded.

“Yes. But that’s what we do. That’s what we’re good at.” Eames voice was soft, “We’ve been doing it for years.”

Arthur’s heart slipped inside his rib cage. It twisted in panic. He spoke slowly, fearfully, each word so delicate it could shatter if he raised his voice louder than a whisper, “Don’t just sit there.” It wasn’t meant to be a challenge or a criticism; it was him, Arthur, begging. Pleading in the moments before he died, but for what?

Eames didn’t understand. His eyes narrowed as if Arthur had deceived him.

Then, “Sometimes I wish you would leave me.” Eames voice had turned hard, bitter.

Arthur shrugged, forcing himself to be casual, “Well, I’m not sick of you yet.” It came out sounding cruel.

“Is that as good as it gets?” Eames retaliated. The anger was still there, accusing and reproachful.

“If you don’t like it, why do you keep coming back to me?” Arthur rose to match Eames’ anger, feeling betrayed, feeling like this was his last chance to be hateful, to inflict pain, “In this business we could never see each other, ever, if we didn’t want to. We could hide. But it’s always the same. It’s always you.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, “Why is it always you?”

Eames held his gaze steady, his own anger fading to be replaced by tenderness, a shocking contrast to everything Arthur had predicted would happen, “Because it’s so easy to come back.”

Arthur stared for a while, and waited for words. He could see Eames struggling to try.

“You are still… the best,” Eames couldn’t meet his eyes, “More or less.” His hands were shaking, “I guess.”

Arthur felt empty, “I guess.” He repeated dully.

He could taste the tension; feel the noises drumming against his skin. There was more to be said. There was more here than he had ever let himself believe before. The explosions rocked outside, the dust danced in the air. His heart beat a little louder. It was reaching a climax.

Without warning, Eames grabbed his arms and forced him back against the wall. “Don’t you leave me.” he moaned. _I’m not sick of you yet._ Arthur felt his body falter, felt everything break apart and then come together again. _Is that as good as it gets?_ He pushed against Eames, his tongue flicking out to trace the powerful jawline, the sensual lips. _I’ll just try and hide it._ Eames’ breathing was ragged and harsh, distracted by Arthur. _I could slip into you._ His whole body was tense, wanting to feel Arthur’s skin brush against his own. _It’s so easy to come back into you._

“It hurts me to say that I want you to stay.” Eames shuddered, his lips pressed to Arthurs, almost touching. Arthur recoiled slightly, his thoughts erratic and his emotions bruised.

“But it might be alright if you go.” Arthur growled fiercely, his eyes screwed shut. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this _._

_So leave me._

Eames broke away. His face dispassionate and perfectly composed. He had always been a better actor than Arthur, who trembled, using the wall to support his aching body. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Dom and Ariadne were gone. They were the only two left. Arthur slid down the wall, letting his legs collapse beneath him. At any other time he would have hated to show such obvious weakness, but it didn’t matter anymore. In any case, Eames had seen him at his worst.

Arthur buried his face in his knees, blinding himself from the sight of the dark, depressing room with its exposed brickwork and rotting wood floors. He could still feel the heat of Eames, loved his taste. He wondered if anyone would ever quite take Arthur’s place in Eames’ life, until he realised that, of course, there wouldn’t be. There would never be anyone ever again.

Eames voice took on a perfect tone of nonchalance, he spoke conversationally, “Sometimes I think that we’re are perfect for each other, darling.”

The statement wasn’t intended to hurt Arthur.  For God’s sake, none of this was ever meant to hurt, but it always did, because that’s all they knew. They only knew how to hurt.

“The bitter in you…” He broke off, teasing, and Arthur peeked up at him from underneath his eyelashes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. “And the quitter in me.” Eames finished, guiltily. A slight smile, a genuine smile, broke open his face. He was so fucking beautiful.

Arthur smiled too.

“Is the bitter in you and the quitter in me?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, purposefully mangling Eames’ words to release the truth. Because, really, if you had any secrets left at the end of your life, they were just going to go to waste.

Eames breathed in slowly. His shoulders were tensed, sweat in his hair.

Arthur felt his body still, his heart quieting. The room was silent, the gunfire muffled, light slipped in through the cracks.

He would have no more secrets when he died, he resolved.

Eames wasn’t smiling now. He was waiting, leaning forward slightly in anticipation. Arthur drew closer.

He could feel the warmth emitting from Eames’ body. Life and blood and heat and lust. Arthur was amazed that this vibrant force of _life_ could exist so close to death. He drew closer.

And closer.

Eames drew closer too.

Suddenly there was no distance between them.  Arthur surged forward, his lips connecting with Eames’, breathing in hiscloseness. There was a brief battle of power as they fought for control over the kiss; hands tugged and pulled mercilessly, teeth bit and scraped and muscles beat together. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, pulled him onto his lap so Arthur could secure Eames between his thighs. Feel the strain, the push and the pull. They moaned and quivered; bathing in the relief, the release, that the other offered. Arthur fitted perfectly against Eames, whose mouth was hot and wet, trailing open kisses along Arthur’s collarbone.

Arthur shifted closer. The rain of gunfire echoed from outside; an insistent beat that was impossible to care about, impossible to fear.  A small whimper drew his attention to Eames who was pressed against him, trembling like a caged bird.

They were awake. This was real.

Eames buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder, one hand tangled in his hair, the other stroking his cheek. There was a sense of completeness about the embrace, and the stillness that followed was beautiful. Arthur pressed a kiss gently against Eames’ forehead and closed his eyes. They were going to die. It was inevitable, but so was this; this desire that they’d been running from for nine years. Eames laughed quietly, the sound muffled by Arthur’s skin.

“This dream is bigger than the both of us.”


End file.
